20 January 2006

Chris Forhan

[from The Actual Moon, the Actual Stars by Chris Forhan]

The Coast of Oklahoma

Oh to stroll the Oklahoma coastnow that the hollyhock is in bloom and my love has returnedand her hair’s in my tuband her smudged socks clutter the bedroom floorand her Subaru leaks its indiscreet spotof oil in the driveway. All my ripe desireis plucked—I’m left to thinkof what cannot be had and feel its lacklike an intoxicant. Oh to packa big picnic and explorethe brackish shallow tidepoolsof the Tulsa Gulf, where the skittery sandpipermakes his earnest rounds, and gullswheel and pivot overhead, where after a rainthe waves are grayish-blueand the jagged Alps of Iowa risein the north like a kept promise. I missalready that pebbled stretch of sandI’ve yet to see, my lovehunched against some salty gustas she tests the water with a naked foot. OOklahoma shore, the mere thought of youis enough to render charmlessthe Hanging Gardens of Utahand shame Orlando’s grand canals.